


First Date

by Winstonian1



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, Top Ringo Starr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winstonian1/pseuds/Winstonian1
Summary: George and Pattie's first date. This story was written at the request of a friend, who couldn't get her head around the fact that Brian Epstein accompanied George and Pattie on their first date. This story is an attempt at a possible explanation!
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	First Date

FIRST DATE

“So, how’s your boyfriend then?”  
Well, that solved that bit then. How to get round to the subject. And would he still want to go out with her. And was he still interested. And had he been interested at all, or had she completely imagined it. And…  
“Eh?”  
Interested enough to really want an answer. He wasn’t just making conversation before he had to go somewhere else…  
“Pattie?”  
“Oh.” She hoped that word hadn’t come out as a squeak. She remembered to breathe. And smile. She’d planned this bit. “He isn’t my boyfriend any more.”  
“Isn’t he?”  
“No.” She shook her head too, to emphasise the point.  
“Why not?”  
That was a bit she hadn’t anticipated. “I…” She paused. Not sure how to make it sound alright, not horrible, not too eager. “I just…”  
“You dumped him!”  
“Well, I…”  
“You dumped him!” George’s grin was wide, and happy. “So, will you have dinner with me then?”  
Pattie’s smile matched his in luminescence. “Ok.”  
“Tonight? Oh.” George paused. “I can’t do tonight. Tomorrow?”  
“Ok.”  
Should she vary her conversation a bit…?  
“What’s your address?”  
Pattie gave him her address, and he borrowed a bit of paper from a passing lighting man so that he could write it down. They fixed a time. Then George was called away for a scene, and Pattie was left feeling as though she was hovering just above the ground.

_“What about this?”  
Mary looked up from her magazine. “It’s nice.”  
“That’s what you said about the last one.”  
“Well, that was nice. This is too.”  
“But which one is better?”  
“For god’s sake, Pattie! I don’t… Which one do you like best?”  
“I don’t know!! I know!” Pattie pulled off the shift dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor, where it joined three other dresses and a skirt. She stepped over them and returned to the wardrobe. There was the sound of clothes hangers being dragged from one side of the rail to the other, and then she hauled out a short blue sleeveless dress and held it up against herself as she frowned into the mirror. “What do you think?”  
Mary rolled her eyes, and took another sip of her wine. She didn’t bother to reply, and Pattie didn’t notice.  
“Aaarrgh!!” The blue dress joined the others on the floor. “I don’t know!! Oh Mary. What should I do?"  
“Get dressed?”  
“What do you think he’d like?”  
“How on earth should I know? I’ve never even met him.”  
“But you’ve seen him…”  
“Pattie, you look gorgeous. Whatever you wear you’ll look gorgeous. He didn’t ask you out for your dress sense. Just put on something!!”  
Pattie stood in the centre of a pile of clothes and tried and tried to quell the panic filling her head and making her heart pump and her mouth dry. She breathed deep and slow and swallowed hard and then again. She looked down at the dresses on the floor; she stooped and picked up the white one from the bottom of the heap. “This one,” she decided.  
“You mean the first one you tried.” Mary drained her wine glass, and poured herself another half. She made no attempt to keep the sarcasm from her voice – Pattie was aware that she probably deserved it. She didn’t bother to find a reply, but just put the white dress on, zipped it up, and then looked around behind her.  
“Now, shoes.”  
“Nooo!!” But Pattie was laughing at her flatmate, and was already putting on the only shoes she had that she knew she could last out an evening in before the pain got too bad. She returned to the dressing table, shook out her hair and brushed it through. Again.  
The doorbell rang._

“But is a suit too posh?”  
“Course not.”  
“How do you know?”  
“Cos everyone wears suits in posh places. So you wouldn’t look posh. Cos the place is posh.”  
George stared at his friend lounging on the sofa, and decided that he was speaking sense. In other words, not putting him on. He turned and padded back to the bedroom, and picked up a tie. And then another tie. And another. He paused, worrying, and then trotted back to the sitting room. “Rich, which tie?”  
“What the fuck?”  
“That doesn’t help.”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Course it does!” George found he was shouting. About a tie. “She does modelling. She knows about… clothes." Even to his own ears he sounded stupid. “Blue or grey?” He held them both up against himself.”  
“Blue.”  
“Sure?”  
“Yes.”  
“Did you even look?”  
“No.”  
“Thanks a bunch.” George went back to the bedroom and held up the blue tie against himself, and decided that it did look alright. He was still putting it on when the buzzer went. Tie still undone, George went to the intercom and pressed. “Yeah?”  
“It’s me.” Brian Epstein’s clipped tones needed no further introduction; George buzzed him in. As the older man stepped into the flat, George asked him anxiously, “Is the suit alright?”  
“Mine or yours?”  
George glared.  
“It looks fine, George.” Brian paused to light a cigarette. “Did you tell her I was coming too?”  
George stood, looked at him forlornly, pursed his lips. Shook his head.  
“Why not?”  
“I… didn’t know what to say.”  
“You could have just…”  
“I didn’t want her to change her mind,” he blurted.  
“You agreed about me coming.”  
Agreed? Well, maybe. Brian did have a way of sounding persuasive. Of making you think he knew best. Of making you think it was the right thing. And, maybe he was right. Pattie was a posh bird, she’d know all the best places and what to do and he was a git from Liverpool. He nodded, he didn’t know what else to say.  
“Well, it’s time we were off. The taxi’s waiting.”  
George nodded again, and went back to the mirror to finish doing his tie. He stared at the finished product; stared at the face which prompted a thousand screams, thought about Pattie, closed his eyes and silently prayed to himself that she hadn’t gone off the idea, that she wouldn’t be disappointed, that… it would all be alright. He opened his eyes again, and went back into the hall to his waiting manager. “Seeya, Rich,” he called through to the sitting room. And then the two left the flat.

\---

The doorbell rang.  
Pattie froze; stared in the direction of the door, as though hearing a doorbell ring was the last thing she’d expected. She stood.  
“D’you think you’d better get that?” Mary’s voice was as amused as it had previously been irritated. She made no effort to move. “There’s a Beatle at the door. You don’t want to leave him standing there, in his little Beatle boots…”  
“Mary!! Don’t be silly!” Pattie took a deep breath, and then walked, calmly, catwalk, towards the door. There she paused, deliberately posed, deliberately composed her face into a welcoming camera-friendly smile - and opened the door. She stared at George. He stared at her. She could feel her smile freezing, and fought to relax it.  
“Hello!” It was the best she could do.

He thought she wasn’t going to answer the door, that he had the wrong address, that he had the wrong evening, that…  
She looked like an angel. He’d only seen her in a school uniform before. This wasn’t a school uniform, she was a vision in white, and all his shyness from school days, from teen days, folded close around him and he wondered why he’d ever imagined that a girl like this would be interested in him. She…  
“Hello!”  
George smiled, grinned, and his fears started to unfreeze. “Hello. You...look beautiful.”  
He hadn‘t planned those words, everything he had tried to plan sounded corny, but this actually sounded alright to his ears.  
“Thank you! Do you want to come in for a minute? I just need…”  
“Pattie. I… er… just need to tell you something…”

\----

What???  
She didn’t actually say that out loud, but it did sound like a scream in her head. Out loud, she managed, “He’s… er… he’s…”  
“Yeah.” “  
Um…” What do you say? When you get the date you dreamed of and he brings - his manager??? What for? Surely not…  
“He just thought…”  
“Yes?”  
“‘Cos... I don’t know London, I’ve only just got here, and I don't really know many places to go, nice places you know, not dodgy places like we might…” He was gabbling. Shut up. George took a deep breath. “He wanted us to go somewhere good and he needed to be there to take us,” he finished, and stared at her imploringly; he knew it was imploringly. He watched her face.  
“So, he doesn’t want… he isn’t thinking…”  
George looked blankly at her for a moment, until the penny dropped. “God no!!” and he laughed. Pattie frowned, puzzled at the obviously spontaneous burst of laughter, and he hastened to take any possible hint of insult from what he’d said. “No, he… Pattie, he wouldn’t be interested you!! Not you…”  
There was a pause, just as puzzled, and then, “Oh! You mean…?”  
“Yeah. But… you don’t tell anyone, okay? it’s…”  
“No. Of course not.” She looked up at him and shook her head. “Not a word.”  
They were still on the doorstep.  
“Shall we…?”  
“Yeah, ok.”  
“I’ll get my coat.”

\----

George followed Brian out of the car and waited close to the taxi door for Pattie, who stepped out, he thought, as if she’d been stepping out of posh cars all her life. Maybe she had. It went with her accent…  
“George? Pattie?” The mildly-expressed two word sentence almost had the effect of gunshot on his two younger companions, and George cut an almost guilty glance at her before they both hastened after him. A doorman stood to attention as they walked past, as casually as they knew how.  
“Where are we?” George asked, very quietly, as it sounded like a very stupid question to his ears. Presumably everyone else here knew where they were.  
“The Garrick,” Brian said over his shoulder to them. George and Pattie followed him. They walked side by side, both looking straight ahead at their dining companion-cum-guide, and they didn’t know whether or not to look at each other so they each looked at Brian instead. They followed him, as he in turn followed a liveried waiter, down some shallow steps and through a glittering dining hall, carpets muting every step, the low murmur of conversation from the other diners, the gentle chinking of wine glasses, the occasional efficient click of a cigarette lighter. As they neared a booth which was obviously theirs, since they were heading straight for it and it was in an alcove and all private and closed in, George risked a swift glance sideways at her face, just as she did the same towards him. Her wide-eyed apprehension exactly matched how he felt. Their glances held together; and then George felt - oh God - a giggle, a disastrous giggle, and he bit his lip and saw that Pattie had caught his giggle and was sucking in her lips as though she’d swallowed a lemon.  
He swallowed hard. It didn’t help. He didn’t know whether Pattie had tried the same ploy; he didn’t dare look at her.

“Madame.” Her chair was moved out for her and she took it, still staring grimly at the table cloth, trying not to shake. This was awful. What would Brian, The Manager, think of her when she wasn’t even looking up or saying anything? GET A GRIP woman!!!  
Her stern though silent admonishment to herself helped, and within a moment she felt sufficiently in control to look up, and to smile dazzlingly at Mr Epstein, who was seated opposite her in the booth. George was next to her, and she turned graciously towards him, feeling every bit the Grande Dame. George was still looking down, apparently shuffling to get comfortable, and Pattie knew without doubt that he was still in the grip of the dreaded giggle which she had, almost, managed to shake off. And, at that second, he glanced up and caught her glance again.  
Pattie shot to her feet. “I just need to…” she said, squeakily, gesturing vaguely behind her. It was understood what she meant, by Brian and also by the lurking waiter, who appeared as though by magic and gestured her towards the ladies room. She nodded as courteously as she could and virtually dashed away from the table.  
Once in the marbled, gilt-trimmed, perfumed and glistening ladies room she glared at herself in the mirror and breathed deeply and waited until she knew the last of the disabling mirth had gone. This was serious business, snap to it. This was ridiculous. There was nothing funny about…  
It threatened to start again; she stared up at the ceiling and let it run its course until she felt truly grounded and reasonable again, and only then did she dare to step away from the fancy Baroque washbasins, leave the rooms and step back into the padded and muted restaurant. She literally shook herself, and strode her best catwalk stride back to their table, cooing a greeting as she approached. “So sorry about that,” she husked.  
George looked up at her, his large dark eyes clear, calm and free of any schoolboy chuckles. He smiled. “Okay?” he asked her.  
She knew exactly what he meant.

The next ten minutes or so were passed easily by pouring over menus and listening to Brian mulling over the wine list, out loud. He eventually settled on one wine, declaring it to George and Pattie to be an excellent vintage. Neither of them felt the need to reply. But then the meals were ordered and the menus removed and what then, George worried. What should he say?  
He need not have worried. And maybe this too was why Brian had elected to come with them, because Brian began to make conversation and, it turned out, he was brilliant at it. He was a genius at it. He spoke to them, he asked easy questions, he included them both, he made them laugh; a proper sociable laugh this time and not the kind that sweeps over you inappropriately in a church service and makes your eyes water and your shoulders shake. George was well acquainted with that sort of laugh, it happened many times when he was with the others – at press conferences, in rehearsals, in the recording studio – but it didn’t matter when he was with the others. It was what they did; they laughed, they fooled around. They freely ignored protocol. But, not here. Not with her. He couldn’t turn into a giggling ape when he was with her, desperate to impress her.  
Except, the same thing had happened to her. Maybe, she wasn’t so very different from him after all?  
George began finally to relax. He hadn’t seen Brian like this before and found himself profoundly relieved that he’d been bulldozed into him coming with them. She seemed to be enjoying it too. The wine was poured, she was drinking and smiling, and he began to do the same. After the first course Brian produced from a pocket in his devastatingly well tailored suit a silver cigarette case, and leaned across to proffer it to his two companions. They each took a cigarette, and George turned towards her to light it for her.

She leaned slightly towards him, the cigarette held between her fingers against her lips, and he too moved towards her and held out his hand with the lighter. He flicked on the flame. The two young people both turned all their attention to the flickering glow; somehow she knew that he was as concentrated on it as she was, and somehow the sounds of the restaurant receded and the other guests ceased to be there, and it was only her, and George, and his hand brushed against hers.  
Pattie’s eyes widened in true shock as the touch sent a charge, a pulse, through her, all through her. Her eyes rose to his and suddenly she felt she was drowning in their deep brown depth…  
…and he knew for sure and for the rest of his life that the only place he wanted to be was within the enclosing protection of those blue heavenly eyes.  
“Could we have the dessert menu?”  
Pattie could feel her mouth fall open in astonishment and it was a long moment before she could drag herself back to the surreal reality of a dinner date accompanied by George’s manager.  
And the cigarette, bizarrely, was still not lit. They hadn’t got that far before she and he had fallen deeply in love.  
“Dessert?” Pattie managed.  
“Their crème brulee is excellent,” said Brian. “I do recommend it.”  
“I…”  
“No thanks, not for me.” George turned his head back to her. “What about you?”  
Pattie shook her head, still bemused, but vaguely aware that she didn’t want to appear rude. “No thank you, I won’t,” she said, to Brian rather than to George. “I… er, I don’t usually have two courses – you know…” and she trailed off, hoping that her expression conveyed the right amount of apologetic regret. “I hope…”  
“Of course.” Brian defined urbanity. “Then... er... Perhaps... Is everyoen finished? I can call for the taxi?”  
Hidden under the table, his expression giving nothing away, George reached for her hand and tucked it into his.  
Pattie’s heart sang.  
“I… er…I have a meeting to go to now. Some… agents. You’ll be alright getting the taxi back?”  
Pattie nodded and turned to look at George, who had an odd expression on his face that she couldn’t identify. But he looked at her, and smiled, and she felt it was all ok. “That’s fine,” said George. “Er… Brian…” He paused, and looked directly at his manager. “Thanks,” he said, and that was all, but Brian seemed to understand.  
“It’s been a great pleasure,” he replied, to George and then directly to Pattie. He got to his feet. “I’ll show you both to the taxi.” It was a clear signal that this part of the evening at least was definitely at an end. The three strolled through the club back the way they’d come and a uniformed flunky hastened to direct them to the taxi. “Pattie,” said Brian, and said goodbye with a genteel kiss to her cheek. “George.” George nodded and smiled, and at last the two were in the taxi, alone.  
“Why’s he seeing agents at this time?” Pattie asked. George had her hand clasped, cradled, between both of his, and he was sitting sideways on the taxi seat and his eyes were engulfing her. She looked back up at him and joined him in the space between them.  
“He isn’t.”  
“But…”  
“Don’t ask.” The words were peremptory but his voice was gentle and as caressing as his gaze. “You never ask.”  
He had given the taxi driver her address. That was… safe; but her head was swimming with the quandary about what to do or say when they got there. What…?  
“Mary will be in,” was all she could think of.  
George smiled and nodded. “When can I see you again?” was his reply, and she was sure that her relief was visible and probably palpable. “Can you do tomorrow? We finish filming about six.”  
Her heart sang again. He wasn’t put off. He hadn’t expected… “Yes.” She nodded, and her other hand moved to clasp both of his. “Tomorrow!”  
The taxi stopped. George leaned forward. “Could you wait a minute?”  
The driver was happy to wait a minute; the meter was still ticking. George jumped out of the car and hurried round to Pattie’s side and opened the door for her; he held her hand as she got out and didn’t relinquish it. They moved together towards the downstairs door of her flats, and then paused, facing each other. Then he did let go of her hand, and slid his arms around her waist and tightened them. She followed their gentle urging and let her own hands move up towards his shoulders as she looked up into his face.  
“I don’t like this,” he said.  
He saw her blue eyes widen, worried, anxious. “What…?”  
“I don’t like leaving you so soon.”  
Her smile of relief was genuine, and glowing. “We could…” She thought; did she need to worry again? “But Mary is…”  
“I know!” and he grinned, that engaging lop sided and so charming grin. “I’m not trying to… I just don’t want to say goodbye yet.” And then he kissed her.  
Time stopped, her breath stopped, but it couldn’t have done but it felt as if it had, or as if she was in a realm where breathing and time didn’t matter. Pressed against him and her eyes closed and her arms around his neck and she was in the right place, the place she decided she would stay in for the rest of her life and maybe even longer than that. His hand was tangled in her hair. He broke the kiss.  
“Are you going to tell me again that Mary is in?” His voice was husky. She chuckled.  
“Yes. I’m sorry but she is.” Her fingertips trailed up the angle of his cheekbone, and he moved his head back and caught her fingers between his lips. He kissed them, and moved down to kiss the palm of her hand.  
“But I don’t want to leave you.” He was smiling, loving, and there was no pressure, no need to worry about further excuses.  
“I know!” she said. “We could go for a walk before I go in?” To her surprise he greeted this excellent suggestion with a small sigh and a downwards glance. She frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”  
George gnawed slightly at his lower lip, looked down again and then back at her. “I don’t really think I can walk around much,” he answered.  
“Why not? Is there something wrong…?”  
“I might get seen.”  
“Who by?”  
“Anyone.”  
She frowned again. “I don’t understand. What does it matter if someone sees you? Shouldn’t you be here or something? I…”  
“Fans.”  
“What… Oh!” Suddenly she understood. “People might…”  
“Yeah,” he replied, his tone rueful. “It wouldn’t be much fun, for either of us.”  
“Oh no, I get that. I just forgot, that’s all. I forgot – I’m sorry.”  
She couldn’t even begin to interpret his expression as he reacted to her words. Eyes wide, lips dropped open. “You forgot.”  
She nodded and this time it was her turn to grasp his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry…”  
“You forgot…”  
She laughed. “I just forgot you’re… well. A Beatle.”  
This time there was only one possible interpretation of his expression. It was joy. Utter joy. “You forgot I’m a Beatle!”  
“Yes! Well, I…” She got no further as he caught her in a bear hug and lifted her right off her feet. Pattie squeaked in surprise. “George!”  
He set her down again, but his beam of joy was still of the ear-to-ear variety. “You forgot!”  
“Is that alright?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he did seem to be pleased about it.  
“Very alright.” He kissed the top of her head, and then tilted her chin with his fingertips and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Come on, let’s get you in. Mary will be worrying!”  
Pattie laughed, happily, and reached into her bag for her key. “Tomorrow?”  
“Tomorrow. Same time. Here.”  
She nodded at him, and then moved across to the door and opened it. George waited until he could see she was safely in, and then turned back towards the waiting taxi. He opened the door and was about to get in when she called to him softly. “George?”  
He turned back to her. “Hmmm?”  
Pattie smiled. “Mary will be out tomorrow.”


End file.
